


organized crime for beginners

by gottagofast



Series: bellarke au [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Finn Bashing, assassination au, brief intentional bleeding, its great, physical fighting with intent to injure, shirtless bellamy, they elope, they sell finns expensive watches for money
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4289424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottagofast/pseuds/gottagofast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My name’s Bellamy, by the way." he offers.</p><p>She ignores him. As long as he’s here to kill her he can go fuck himself.</p><p> </p><p>or, Finns a fucking dick and Clarke gets the revenge fuck of all revenge fucks</p><p>(based on the tumblr prompt "your partner hired me to kill you but they're an asshole so let's make out instead au")</p>
            </blockquote>





	organized crime for beginners

**Author's Note:**

> there isn't any graphic violence so I didn't tag it as a warning, but there is some fighting and a non-specific mention of someone cutting someone elses arm so it looks like a crime scene

“I’ll be honest” he grins impishly, dodging another swipe at his chest. “I’ve never been so turned on in my life.”

 

The skin on Clarkes hands feels raw and burning, one of her ankles is probably twisted and she can’t get the last time she’d seen Finn out of her head. She’d stood in the doorway of their hotel room watching him wait for the elevator and he had turned and smiled at her, his eyes catching the light and looking ghostly absent. At the time his smile had seemed sweet and sincere, all things she’d been convinced he was. Now she realizes he had probably been gloating.

 

The stranger in a three piece suit who’d jumped her while she was getting ready for dinner had seemed taken aback when she had twisted herself out of his grasp and elbowed him violently in the stomach. Now the harder she fought, the more flippant his smiles become.

 

He brings down the metal shower rod onto her shoulder hard enough to smash the table leg she holds up to block him. It shatters into fragments in her hands and she’s down and rolling across the bed before he can get in another swing. They watch each other for a tense moment from opposite ends of the destroyed hotel room.

 

Feathers had started to settle around them like confetti, leaving a fine white down over top of the rose petals she'd scattered in anticipation of Finn's return. A pang of guilt blinsides her at the sight of their ruined hotel room, but she quashes it, furious. 

 

How dare he put a hit out on her and have her foot the bill. God knew _he_ wasn't paying for it after his flop of a first novel. Fuck him and his stupid hair, fuck him and that stupid tie that Clarke never had the heart to tell him not to wear and fuck him and his shitty sci-fi novels. Fuck him for kissing her goodbye an hour and a half ago knowing she was going to die.

 

“Hey princess,” the stranger trying to kill her interrupts her rant. He’s watching her warily from across the room, his arm half extended like he’s not sure if he should drop his weapon or not.

 

His attempt at a smile is crooked, like he’s waiting for her to take another shot at him for the taunt.

 

Clarke barely hears him. There’s a ringing in her ears that she can’t shake and her heart rate is dangerously high.Her entire body is pulsating with a rage like she's never felt in her life. If anyone had a right to kill it would be Clarke, who had just wasted 12 years of her life on the shadiest guy in the entire universe. 

 

Like a shot she launches herself across the room and barrels into him, the force of her jump throwing them straight through the sliding glass doors. They land sprawled across the balcony floor on a bed of shattered glass.

 

Clarke is staring dazedly up at the night sky when it occurs to her that her mother had _liked_ Finn. She’d even gone ring shopping with him (read: paid for the biggest rock Finn could get away with). Her nerves shot to hell, she giggles mildly at the face her mother would make if she ever found out he’d tried to have her killed. 

 

 _Have her killed!_ The idea seems hilarious now. Her giggles increase in pitch until she can’t breathe through her laughter. She's choking on her own hysteria. She can't stop picturing Finn in his old worn out underwear and that ugly flannel robe covertly ordering an assasination over the phone or something, like a delivery service. She rolls over in an effort to get some air and catches sight of the hitman, picking glass out of his jacket pocket his expression cold. Like her lungs have been punctured, there is suddenly not enough strength left in her to take in another breath. _He tried to have her killed_.

 

She watches him for a minute before heaving herself up, shaking off her ruined dress and picking her way over to the minifridge.

 

“Hey, wh-“ he calls out, following her inside, pulling up short at the sight of her guzzling straight from a bottle of hard expensive vodka. This, she supposes, is what she gets for listening to her mother.

 

”My name’s Bellamy, by the way.” he offers.

 

She ignores him. As long as he’s here to kill her he can go fuck himself too.

 

He grins easy and slow and golden and, oh no. Not her potential murderer. The feeling inside her stomach, warm and slow like spreading honey is so incongruous with the knot of fear and loathing tangled up in her ribcage that she can’t think straight for a minute. She takes another swig of vodka in an effort to cope and this time the bitter tast of disinfectant burns its way down her throat and she almost gags.

 

 _He was totally going to murder you_ , she reminds herself, and it works.

 

She sweeps aside the rose petals and Finn’s bloated ghost and pulls herself up onto the counter, folds her hands primly in her lap and breathes out a little, trying to recenter herself. To her great dismay, her mouth starts trembling. “Hey” he says in a soft voice, and starts towards her like he’s going to say something sweet. He dodges the plate she launches at him and it shatters against the wall behind him instead.

 

In the end her tears are less than hysterical considering the night she’s had.

 

It’s a good thing she gets them out of the way too, because when, a few minutes later, theres a knock at the door, she’s sufficiently back in her own head to hiss a “what the fuck are you doing?” at Bellamy when he starts stripping down in the middle of the living room. 

 

“Not getting fucking arrested,” he whispers back. “Get in the bathroom.”

 

And then when she still hasn’t moved. “They won’t be able to trace it back to him.” he says almost like an apology. “My - the people who do my money stuff are good.”

 

She hesitates for another minute watching him tug his shirt over his shoulders, trying to decide whether or not she should trust him. He smirks when he catches sight of her watching and she pointedly turns her back on him.

 

A minute later there’s the sound of him unlatching the door and a quiet “Yes?”

 

“Oh! Sorry, sir.” someone mutters, flustered. “Other guests have reported sounds of breaking glass.“

 

“Sorry,” Bellamy rubs his neck in a good imitation of sheepishness. “we got a little carried away.”

 

Clarke blushes, suddenly understanding Bellamy’s nakedness. She pokes her head out around the bathroom doorway and catches sight of Bellamy draped across the doorframe, leaning imposingly out at the poor concierge they sent up to check on things.

 

She can’t think in straight lines. Finn’s betrayal is like a thousand stinging cuts on her skin and the pain is blinding her. She doesn’t know whether to stay quiet or call for the police. The silence outside is drawing on too long. The concierge won’t leave and the lines of Bellamys shoulder are growing more taught the longer he stands there. In the end she clings to the only plan that makes sense at this moment: do exactly what her mother would tell her not to. 

 

“Baby,” she cries, breathy and just barely desperate. “if you don’t come back I’ll have to start without you.” It sounds strident and harsh to her own ears, but whoever is in the hallway seems appeased because they stammer out an apology to a stony-faced Bellamy, who is stoic just until the door shuts in their face.

 

He sags against the doorway briefly, closing his eyes in silent prayer, sparking in her an unfamiliar, misplaced sense of pride that curdles to disgust in enough time for Bellamy to pull himself together. He checks out the peephole once to make sure the hall is clear and then turns back to her still looking at her sideways like she might reveal she can do backflips next, but settling into business, already buttoning his shirt back up. 

 

“Go clean yourself up. This was a robbery, so take only the most expensive things.” She turns away to start packing a bag and he calls her back. “Also,” he adds, holding her gaze from across the room. “we’re going to have to leave blood.”

 

Somewhere between throwing a plate at his head and him watching her cry from a respectful distance they decided they didn’t want to kill eachother. Bellamy, at least, has decided he - what? Isn’t going to do his job? She catches him looking at her crooked a few times and finally snaps at him. 

 

“Nothing, sorry.” he mutters, turning back to the pile of things he’s pulled out of Finn’s suitcase. “I just don’t get why someone would want you killed.” and they leave it at that.

 

Clarke is stoic about being bled and Bellamy is weirdly good at it. It doesn’t even sting until a few seconds later and he's already holding the skin together to try and keep it from scarring. She’s only a little bit woozy - mostly from the sight of the blood - when he finally tapes her up and they stand back to survey their handiwork.

 

“Looks like a regular crime scene.” Clarke surprises them both by saying, punching him fondly in the shoulder. She's a little worried the compliment might not come across through her slurring. 

 

He’s about to shut the door when Clarke jumps like she’s been electrocuted and drops her bag to race into the bathroom. Bellamy walks in to find her on her knees in front of the toilet, scrubbing the bowl with Finn’s toothbrush. The look on Bellamy’s face is familiar, but she can’t place it.

 

**…**

 

She changes her will online using the hotspot at the hangar, but stares at her computer for a few minutes worrying her thumbnail between her teeth.

 

“Hey,” she calls Bellamy over from where he’s surveying an empty runway. It started raining on the way over and on the tin hangar roof it sounds like gunshots in the night, but she still keeps her voice low, just in case.

 

“What else can your friends do?”

 

He makes a call to someone named Anya and she has the timestamp on the changes to her will dated at over a year and a half ago, naming Raven Reyes the sole inheritor of her lifesavings and familial trustfund money. She closes her laptop in bittersweet satisfaction. That should set her and Wicke up to open a whole chain of garages.

 

**…**

 

She gets Anya to forge her a new medical license and history so she can open a new practice in Germany and after a while she can’t even remember Finn’s middle name.

 

Bellamy gets that look on his face more and more when he thinks she's not looking, and Clarke gets tired of pretending she doesnt want to jump him whenever he comes over sweaty and on an energetic high after a run, or tags along to one of her medical conferences even though he thinks they’re boring and spends the entire night in the hotel room watching austere german movies that Clarke still only partly understands after all this time.

 

Sometimes she still looks at him and thinks _he tried to kill me._  But he didn’t, and when he turns around to ask her a question or set her straight in an argument they’re having she remembers there is literally no better person she could’ve accidentally eloped with.

 

When they finally kiss, the rest unavoidably follows, gaining momentum as they go along. Bellamy has her crying out to God in german with a fluency that probably surprises the neighbours as well. 

 

One night he rolls over in bed with a strange look on his face and says in a serious, quiet voice. “I tried to kill you once.”

 

If he loves her near as much as she loves him, she thinks she can almost understand the clench of fear he must feel whenever he thinks about it.

 

She tucks herself closer to him, presses their foreheads together and reminds him, “But you didn’t.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> anyways im great nothing new
> 
> my theory is that clarke is literally too amazing to die and bellamy is shit at close range combat


End file.
